What Happens When the Backstory Catches Up to You
by SCWLC
Summary: So Sam looks like Jared Padalecki. What happens when a case takes them right to a con where Jared’s doing the actor at a con thing? Sequel to my story, “A Visit to the Department of Inventive Backstory”


Title: What Happens When the Backstory Catches Up to You

Author: SCWLC

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam'n'Dean, but I don't. No one owns Jared Padalecki except himself.

Timeline: Sometime after _Hollywood Babylon_.

Summary: So Sam looks like Jared Padalecki. What happens when a case takes them right to a con where Jared's doing the actor at a con thing?

Genre: Gen, humour.

Rating: PG for some language, I guess.

Notes: So this is the sequel to my story, "A Visit to the Department of Inventive Backstory". Anyhow, I took some things from interviews with Eric Kripke for this, and I've noted at the bottom of the story the ones I think are important. Also, the actor Erik Graham isn't real. If there's a real actor named that, I'm not thinking of him. He's supposed to be kind of the Jensen Ackles of the imaginary TV show, a young-ish, talented and very attractive actor. I considered using someone real, but I didn't want to deal with that. The location of the story is made up, the fangirls are a compilation of every frightening fangirl story I've ever heard, and basically, you should assume that this is totally made up. I'm in it for the funny.

***************************

Los Angeles. Land of the intracity freeway.

Sam was staring out of the window of the Impala, watching the cityscape go by. They'd found a case in a new branch of the Hilton that had opened in the city just a few weeks before. It was a building that had begun its life as luxury apartments for the rich back in the 30's, and had been transformed back and forth to a condominium to a hotel and back again several times throughout its history.

Apparently there had been suicides by various methods in the penthouse suite every five years, whenever that suite was occupied on the five-year mark. It was the fact that sometimes, on the five-year-mark, it might not be occupied, whether because the inhabitants were on vacation or there being none at the time. Most often, it had been because of yet another round of transformation from a hotel to an apartment complex or vice versa.

Nonetheless, Sam had managed to put together the story. Mainly due to a period of insomnia caused by the after-effects of a hag. It was bad enough to have had the nightmares that came with one of them following you around, but since this one had left, Sam hadn't been able to go to sleep. He'd spent so much time asleep under her influence that he'd had too much sleep.

So with nothing to do at night besides watch infomercials with the mute on, Sam had looked into the suicides and had made the kinds of complex spreadsheets that always got Dean calling Sam a geek.

Having found the case, (and _not_ shown Dean the spreadsheets) they were on their way to check out the hotel. Sam was kind of torn on whether or not he wanted them to have to stay there to keep an eye on the place. On the one hand, it would be nice to stay somewhere that had enough hot water for both of them to have a long, hot shower, bedsheets and bathrooms that were actually clean and a place where they could assume there would be no rats, roaches or mice in the room. On the other hand, these places were expensive and if they maxed out their cards, they were both up shit creek without a paddle.

"Huh," Dean commented as they drove past in search of a legal parking spot without a metre. "Looks like something's up." He was right. There were crowds gathered around the hotel, but Sam noticed they weren't precisely around the hotel.

"Looks like a convention," Sam replied. "There's a convention centre next door. The lines just happen to be passing by the hotel doors."

"That's good!" Dean said enthusiastically. "There'll be all sorts of people hangin' around everywhere. Might be easier to get into places. Camouflage."

Sam raised an eyebrow as he glanced over. "And what if it's a Harlequin romance convention? There seem to be an awful lot of girls there."

Dean winced, but stoically said. "I'm sure we can come up with something. We'll see when we get there."

Eventually, however, Dean was forced to admit there was nowhere legal to park, so he pulled the car into a spot where he could stop legally, and hopped out. "I'm going to see what's up. Stay here, and I'll come back when I know what's happening."

Before he could say anything, Dean was gone and Sam was thinking he was just grateful it was early enough in the day and they were in the shade so he wouldn't cook inside the car. Dean wasn't gone too long either, before he came back, plonking himself back into the driver's seat and starting the car.

"So?" Sam asked.

"It's a convention about a TV show," Dean said. "The series is called _Inexplicable_ and they're calling the convention, 'Inexplicable Ideas'."

"Inex-" Sam cut himself off as he realised where he'd heard that before. It was Jared Padalecki's current project. It was a show on the CW network, about an idealistic journalist and the photographer assigned to him by the tabloid they worked for. The two travelled the country, saving people from various creatures of American folklore and legend. (1)

The show had only just hit the air not long before Jess had been killed, but Sam had found himself getting a new series of requests from his usual customers for his impressions of Padalecki. These tended to be a lot more in the way of 'hero' shots, and there had been the one request for him to pose shirtless with a complex 'tribal tattoo' drawn onto his chest. He'd done it, but only after Jess had talked him around.

With a sinking feeling, Sam realised that he was going to have to do a great many things for this case that he had never wanted. Top of that list was letting Dean know about the lookalike thing. Meanwhile, however, they had to find a parking spot and get a look at the penthouse floor. Sam was planning on putting that off as long as possible.

Dean, unsurprisingly, caught Sam's response. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"No. I uh . . . I think we might be able to pass as fans though," Sam offered. "It's a show about a journalist and his photographer and they kill supernatural stuff."

"Really?" Dean asked. "So why would we be able to pretend to be fans?"

"'Cause we can say we're into the action and horror and the urban legend aspect, rather than the 'two hot guys in a classic car' thing."

Dean blinked, then raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Really," he said. It wasn't a question.

"They drive a '65 royal blue Mustang, Dean,"(2) Sam said. Dean promptly made a face.

"Mustang," he muttered derisively.

Sam rolled his eyes, and said, "Suck it up, Dean. Pretend you like the car."

They arrived at the hotel, Sam skulking as much as his enormous frame would allow, Dean muttering something about how pretending to like the Mustang was as bad as the Corvair Appreciation Society of America. Spotting a couple girls he actually recognised, Sam hastily turned around, raising a hand to pretend he was fixing his hair when he realised he was facing a mirror on the hotel lobby wall.

Dean was giving him a Look, but Sam ignored it in favour of the two girls.

"So? Did you find out where he's staying?"

"Uh . . . yeah!" said the other girl, shades of 'duh!' in her voice. "He's in the penthouse. I've seen pictures. There's a jacuzzi and everything."

The first made that odd high-pitched noise the fangirls called squeeing, and said. "Ohmigod. Jared. In a _jacuzzi_."

"I _know_."

The two moaned in unison.

Sam winced into the mirror. Dean was eyeing the girls dubiously. As they moved out of earshot, he said, "Huh. I guess this Jared guy's big with the chicks."

Sam winced again, but he also turned to Dean and said, "I can get us into the penthouse. Just . . . follow my lead and don't say anything."

Dean raised an eyebrow and replied, "Go ahead. Let's see this plan in action. What's the plan?"

"Just . . . don't say anything," Sam said, pleading. He turned back to the mirror for a moment, adjusting his hair and putting on a happy grin. Dean was looking perplexed, but Sam just took a deep breath and faced the lobby. Then he crossed it, faking confidence and strode up to the front desk. There was a young woman behind the counter, and, as she spotted him, she squeaked, twitched and then visibly steeled herself to be professional.

"Hi – I mean, can I help you with something Ja – sir?" she asked.

Sam felt like the biggest dork in the world and an even worse schmoozer as he said, "I, uh, left my room keys in the suite." He gave her a conspiratorial grin. "I was hoping you could get me a replacement so I could get back in," he kept the smile on even as he felt Dean start to vibrate beside him.

Dean wanted to know what was going on. The only thing keeping him from saying anything was that he knew better than to screw up the con that would get them into the rooms.

"Oh! Of course!" she smiled back and immediately started to shuffle under the desk, quickly coming up with a card key. She frowned in Dean's direction and asked, "Is that a friend of yours?"

Sam turned a little and said, "Him? Uh . . . yeah, but he's also sort of doing some bodyguard stuff. After that incident with the uh . . ." he waved a hand vaguely in the air. He knew of a couple incidents where Padalecki had been effectively attacked by his fans, but if there was anything more recent, he didn't want to screw up his cover by being ignorant of things that had supposedly happened to him.

Luckily she was happy to fill in the blanks. "Oh! Of course." She handed over the key and smiled. "Have a nice day Mr. Padalecki."

The words were enough to garner the attention of every single woman in the lobby and a bunch of frighteningly geeky guys. There was a surge of movement, and then Sam grabbed Dean, practically sprinting across the space to a luckily open elevator and managing to get the door closed and the elevator moving before 'his' fans caught up with them.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded.

Sam closed his eyes, searching for the words. "I . . . uh . . . look just like Jared Padalecki."

Dean blinked. "'S'that the guy in _Inexplicable_?"

"And _Gilmore Girls_ and _House of Wax_ and the remake of _Friday the Thirteenth_."

Sam chanced a look at his brother. "So, you look just like a movie star, and you haven't been using that for free stuff and accommodations?" Dean shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Dean, you heard those girls right? Padalecki's fans are all like that. Only crazier. Seriously, I still have scars from this one time a woman was trying to literally get my hair for a locket." Sam shuddered a little at the memory.

"So some teenagers are a little-"

Sam cut him off. "She was in her fifties."

Dean still looked hopeful. "MILF?"

"More psychotic hausfrau."

Dean winced at the thought, but picked up on something else. "So you look like some guy who was on _Gilmore Girls_?"

"Yes." It didn't take long for the other shoe to drop.

Dean shook his head. "Man, the only thing worse than a chicky TV show like that is a soap opera."(3)

Sam just glared.

The rest of the elevator ride was silent, but Sam had the sinking feeling it was more because Dean was lining up all his one-liners for use, rather than because Dean was going to be nice about things for once.

They got off at the top floor, headed down the short hallway and ran into a bunch of wide-eyed girls hovering hopefully around the suite door.

Sam swallowed sharply and gamely put on a genial face. "Can I help you ladies with something?" he asked.

Some of the girls got wide-eyed and very quiet, another started making odd muffled noises, but the last couple surged forward. "Can I have your autograph?" the one in the lead asked.

"I . . . uh . . . sure," Sam said, reaching forward. He silently thanked his Dad for teaching him how to forge signatures from memory, even as he dredged up the few times he'd seen Padalecki's autograph. She handed over a season one DVD collection (With exclusive interviews from Erik Graham, Jared Padalecki and creator Eric Kripke!) which Sam managed to get signed after some fussing and Dean providing a decent marker for that kind of thing. "Who should I make this out to?" he asked.

"Um . . . Penny Young," she said with a disturbingly wide smile on her face. "I'm your biggest fan."

In the back of the small crowd, another muttered, "Oh, please. You don't even know when Saul's birthday is." In his peripheral vision, Sam could see Dean's head turning to look at the girl who had muttered that, but he determinedly ignored it as he thought back to the interminable three weeks before high school graduation when everyone had been demanding signatures in their yearbooks.

Those same skills came to the fore now as he signed and came up with cute things for every single one of the group.

Sam, who had been fielding some very invasive questions about Padalecki's girlfriend and co-star, finally said, "It's been really nice meeting all of you, I hope you enjoy the rest of the convention. Maybe I'll see some of y'all later." This garnered a ripple of strange fangirl sounds, and that was when the Bad Things started. The girl who had been making strange noises suddenly squeaked and lunged at him. Sam, despite half-expecting it, was still taken by surprise and went down in a tangle of limbs as she grabbed several delicate bits of his anatomy, kissed him and then fled down the hall to the stairs making a phone call in triumph to someone about how she'd gotten to kiss 'Jared'.

This opened up a free-for-all on Sam, who had barely started to get up again when all the girls were on top of him, and _touching_ him. For lack of a better term.

Dean rescued him. Wading into the catfight erupting on top of Sam, he grabbed girls, one after the other, firmly dragging them off. "Okay ladies," the elder brother said, "S-Jared's got to get rested up, I mean, you don't want his arm all worn out for all the other fans who want autographs."

He managed to get the suite door open and Dean and himself inside, even as Dean played Security with admirable skill.

Once inside, he staggered over to a nearby sofa and collapsed onto it. "I'd forgotten how much it sucks to be Padalecki," he said.

"Dude, that happen often?" Dean asked with concern. All mocking notes were temporarily gone from his voice as he turned Sam's head left and right, checking the red marks and scratches that were starting to appear.

Sam heaved a sigh. "Every damn year I was at Stanford." He shook his head. "It started the first day, sort of, but it spread all over the school and crazy girls started coming out of the woodwork."

There was a brief silence as both contemplated this, and then Dean said, "You uh . . . you don't think Tara Benchley thought I was like that, do you?" He looked at Sam, wide-eyed and earnest.

Rolling his eyes, Sam said, "She slept with you, didn't she? I really don't think she'd'a done that if she thought you were like that bunch outside the door." Dean slowly nodded, reassured.

"Anyhow," Sam said, pulling himself to his feet, "I think we'd better get an EMF reading here before Padalecki gets back and finds out he's got strangers in his hotel room."

Easier said than done, because just as they both had taken out their metres, the door rattled and in walked Padalecki. All three froze at the sight of each other. There was a long pause, as Padalecki clearly tried to absorb the fact that he had a twin on the other side of the room. Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to come up with something, anything, to say that wouldn't get them arrested or anything.

Dean, being Dean, chose to brazen their way out of it. "Well, I can see the resemblance Sammy, but he's shorter than you, and . . . dude, what's with the hat?" he asked Padalecki, gesturing at the toque on the man's head.

And that was when Sam's world went just a tad askew. "Sammy . . . Wait . . . Samuel Winchester?" said Padalecki. He suddenly grinned. "I'd heard of you. I started to find all these publicity and candid shots that I knew I hadn't taken and they weren't manipulated pictures or anything." He stepped forward, looking at Sam in fascination. "I was at a con in Palo Alto when I heard from some old friends of yours that you'd been turning a quick buck impersonating me."

"Uh . . . my girlfriend asked me to," Sam said, slowly. "I wasn't so sure it was a good idea, but people kept thinking I was . . . uh . . ."

Dean stepped in. "Dean Winchester, older brother. I kinda wanted to see this guy that kept getting my brother beaten up by a bunch of girls."

"Dean!"

"So I got him to pretend to be you. Seemed like it'd be less trouble than the whole convention thing downstairs."

Never let it be said Dean Winchester couldn't spin a good story off-the-cuff.

"Wow," Padalecki said. "I mean, I kinda always wanted to meet you." He leaned a little more forward as he squinted at Sam. "I really didn't think we'd look _this_ much alike."

Sam shook his head, "After being attacked by someone's grandmother after a lock of hair from "Jared"," Sam's hands went up in air quotes, "I kinda expected we had to look this close."

Dean shifted a little and said, "Hey, where's your bathroom?"

Padalecki, still staring in open fascination at Sam pointed and said, "Down that hall, on the left."

Sam turned a little, watching his brother vanish down the hallway, pulling out the EMF as he went, relying on Sam to distract their host. Taking a deep breath, Sam set out to do just that, asking the first question that sprang to mind. "How the hell do you put up with all the fans?"

Padalecki sat down on an easy chair, gesturing for Sam to take a seat himself. "What do you mean?" he asked, looking honestly puzzled.

A soft gasp of laughter escaped the younger Winchester as he sat down himself. "I mean, all the women trying to rip your hair off and take your clothes and . . . and . . ." Sam gestured at his much-disarranged self.

"Well, for one thing," Padalecki told him, "I've probably been more careful than you." He smiled a little wryly. "I mean, people in my neighbourhood know me and my dogs and they don't bug us, and when I'm at the convention I let security do its job, you know?"

Sam shook his head. "All I know, is that I was at Stanford a few months and one day I was practically tackled by this girl who started a rumour that Jared Padalecki was researching a role for a movie there."

"So that's where that came from," Padalecki said. "I'd wondered, since there hadn't been anything on the horizon at all, at that point."

"Sorry," Sam replied. He shifted uncomfortably. This was really weird. Padalecki wasn't a shapeshifter or anything unnatural. Just a strange coincidence.

Padalecki grinned at him again, open and friendly. "It's no problem. Not like it's your fault."

Sam found himself pouring out his story to someone who might actually understand the various fangirl attacks. When Dean came back in, he happily joined in with his tales of being a temp PA on the _Hell Hazers_ set. Suddenly, Dean turned back to Sam and said, "Was that how you managed to get all over the place in the studio that time without doing any work?"

That evinced a grin from Sam. He'd felt a little guilty at the time, using his appearance to hang around without causing suspicion while Dean had to work on the set, but that guilt had dried up when he'd realised exactly how much Dean had enjoyed the whole thing. And the food. "Pretty much," Sam admitted. "I got the idea on the tour when that woman said that thing about maybe seeing some of the stars of _Gilmore Girls_."

Padalecki's jaw dropped open. "Do you know how much trouble I got into with my girlfriend over that? I got this angry call from her about why I didn't come to see her when I was in LA, and I hadn't left Vancouver for three months!"

"Um . . . sorry?" Sam said.

"Just . . . try not to do things that'll get me into trouble," Padalecki said. "I-" He was cut off by his cell phone ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the display, and said, "'Scuse me, I have to take this." He got up, vanishing down the hall to the bedroom, where Sam could dimly hear him saying, "Hey! Erik! Man, you will never believe this . . ."

Sam turned to his brother. "So, what'd you get from the EMF?"

"There's definitely something here," Dean said, "But it got a lot stronger when I checked the bedroom, and weaker the further away I got. I've got it on right now, and nothing."

Sam sighed. "I'm gonna have to check out the history of the building more. See if I can find some commonalities with the deaths."

Nodding, Dean said, "Well, why don't we get a list of all the victims, we can see if we can get in to talk to any of their families and friends." Then he shook his head. "Actually, forget the 'we'. You said it's five years coming up now, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Oh. You think Padalecki . . ." he trailed off. Padalecki was going to be in this suite for the next couple days. Right over the anniversary of all the deaths since the building was built. "How the hell am I supposed to-"

The other man was walking in. "So I just talked to Erik, my co-star Erik, and he wants to meet you. Where are you guys staying?"

"We'd just gotten to town and noticed the convention, actually," Sam said. "We don't have a place yet."

Padalecki tilted his head a little. "Well, since you've already impersonated me to break into my suite," Sam flushed a little at that. "Why don't you and your brother crash here anyhow? The security will probably be better here, and goodness knows what people would say if they saw me checking in somewhere other than here."

Dean shot Sam a look. It said, _I think we've got our in_.

"I . . . Thanks Mr. Padalecki."

"Please," said the one-inch-shorter of the twins. "Call me Jared. I keep expecting to see my high school principal coming to put me in detention when I hear that."

**********************

"No, Dean."

The words, said with Sam not even looking up from where he sat, flipping through their Dad's journal, got the attention of both Erik and Jared.

"'No, Dean,' what?" Jared asked curiously.

Dean shot Jared a long-suffering look. "Some girls were speculating about whether or not I was supposed to be a guest star on your show or somethin'." He grinned at Sam who let out an irritated huff, still determinedly focussed on the book. "They said I'm hotter than you."

"You can hear something in all that?" Erik inquired, gesturing to the far side of the curtain where thousands of fans were talking in a hubbub of white noise. He sounded fascinated.

Sam sighed, "First of all, they said you _might_ be _cuter_ than Jared, Dean," he looked up finally. "Second, you can hear most of the things going on out there if you pay attention, and third," Sam turned to Jared, "No, Dean, you can't go out there and lie to those girls telling them you're going to be on _Inexplicable_, when you're not."

Erik nodded sagely. "It might be cool, but most of them probably know more about what's going to be happening next on the show than me and Jared."

"Wasn't sleeping with Tara Benchley enough?" Sam asked. "I mean, for your show biz bedpost notches?"

"You slept with Tara?" Jared asked, eyes wide. "She always said she doesn't get personal with her fans."

"She thought he was a PA," Sam said dismissively. Suddenly he realised what he'd said and corrected. "I mean, Dean was sort of temping on _Hell Hazers_, but I think she thought he was . . . less temporary or something."

Dean just got a dreamy grin on his face. "Oh yeah." He looked at the others. "She said-"

"If you tell that 'Hell of a PA' story one more time, Dean, I'll have to kill you."

Dean looked over at Erik, who looked honestly intrigued. "I'll tell you later," he mouthed at the shorter of the two actors. Erik grinned, gave him a thumbs up, and then turned his attention to outside the curtained-off area in the convention centre hall.

Outside the curtain, a woman had started speaking into a microphone.

"I have the great pleasure of introducing to you, two of the finest actors on television today. The stars of the series that brought us together here, Erik Graham, a.k.a. David Browning, and Jared Padalecki, a.k.a. Saul York!" With that, the crowd erupted into screams, and Jared and Erik sauntered easily onto the stage. They got settled, picking up microphones, and said a few quick greetings to the audience.

That set off another round of screaming. Dean was goggle-eyed at the crowd, while Sam just felt nervous. Erik had proposed the idea, Jared had endorsed it and Dean had egged them both on until Sam had given in. Sam still felt sure this was going to go badly.

"So, before we start on the questions, I want to introduce someone to y'all," Jared was saying. "I'd heard of him and I just met him today. You know how they say everyone's got a twin out there? I just found mine and his older brother. So, just step out here for a sec, Sam!"

Sam sighed, knowing it was now too late to back out, and stepped into an unwanted limelight. He hesitated as the crowd started screaming again, clearly able to pick out a few girls shrieking that, "Omigod! There's two of them! Soooooo hot!"

He paused long enough that Dean lost patience and dragged him onto the stage with one hand, somehow managing to juggle two stools with the other. He plonked Sam onto a stool and took up a position next to him, then grinned lazily at the audience.

Jared looked out and said, "The other one is Sam's older brother, Dean. Anyhow, a few years back, I started to find all these pictures on the internet that were clearly publicity shots, and I couldn't recall doing them. Turns out, Sam here does a pretty good imitation of me."

Sam smiled weakly and gave a pathetic sort of half-wave of his hand. Completely overwhelmed, he found himself just sitting there while Dean, who was pretty damn good at being the centre of attention when he wanted to be, fielded all sorts of questions, including how it felt to be one of the sexiest men in North America.

"It's pretty awesome being that sexy," Dean told her. "I know I like it. Sammy pretends he doesn't notice, but he thinks it's pretty damn awesome too."

"Dean!" Sam turned wide eyes on his brother. He knew Dean was generally shameless, but this was pretty over the top.

His protesting cry was completely drowned out by the sound of screaming girls.

Another question came up, "This is for . . . well, anyone up there, really. Since you pretty much have a twin now, do you think there'll be any Saul doppelganger episodes?"

"Well," Jared answered, "Sam isn't an actor, so I doubt that any doppelganger episodes'll use him, but I won't rule out the possibility that the writers will give us one."

Sam finally spoke up, saying, "I . . . uh, think, now that we've explained all the mysteries of how Jared here was in two places at once, Dean and I'll sneak off. After all, y'all didn't come here to see us, and I don't really know anything about the show anyhow."

"How could I be a fan of a show where the lead guy drives a royal blue '65 _Mustang_," Dean added.

Sam shot him a look, shaking his head, "You're not going to make this into a Ford vs. Chevy thing, are you?"

"_Mustang_," Dean muttered again, derisively.

"What would you suggest?" one of the girls in the audience demanded. "A Ferrari?"

"Something that's not a pussy car,"(4) Dean replied.

Sam rolled his eyes, saying sardonically, "A '67, cherry-black, Chevy Impala maybe?"

"Are you mocking my baby, Sam?"

"Come on, Dean."

They left, allowing the rest of the afternoon to continue uninterrupted for Erik and Jared. The two of them headed out for the UCLA campus main library to look into some more details of the case.

What they found was disheartening. "There was a family of four, the Gzowskis, that lived in the penthouse when it was first built," Sam said. "They were all found slaughtered in various ways the day after our suicide anniversary." He flipped a page and raised an eyebrow. "There must have been some kind of family reunion, because the mother's sisters and their families were there too."

"All dead?" Dean asked from where he was trying to find records for some of the later victims.

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head. "So . . . so far what we've got is ten or more possible suspects?"

Sam sighed. "Looks like. I'll keep digging."

Hours later, they still didn't have anything more useful. They'd found out how all the various victims had died, and there were no common denominators. Hangings, drug overdoses, slit wrists, electrocution via bathtub and a radio, a couple had taken headers off the balcony too. Dean had taken great delight in recounting all the details of one elderly gentleman who had boozed up and given himself a heart attack with a hooker. The prostitute had panicked, tried to flee the scene after calling 911 and tripped, giving herself a concussion that proved fatal on the way to the hospital. But not before she'd told the story.

"If I gotta go, that's the way I wanna do it," Dean said to Sam as they rode up the elevator to the suite.

Glancing at his older brother, Sam said, "I really don't want to hear about all your weird kinky fantasies."

"Come on! You know that'd be awesome," Dean said with a sleazy grin on his face.

Sam just shook his head. "Death by lady of the night? I'll pass."

"What lady of the night?" Dean demanded. "I'm sayin' hookers dude." The elevator doors opened, revealing Jared at the end of the hall, having gotten back before them. "Death by hot chick."

"Do I want to know what you're talking about?" he asked the brothers as he unlocked the door and gestured them in ahead of him.

Sam said, "No," even as Dean launched into a detailed recounting of the story.

Jared made a face when Dean was done, saying, "I think I'm with Sam on this – I wish I hadn't heard that."

"You're both big girls," Dean complained. He picked up the TV remote and started channel flipping, pausing on an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. The redhead was wearing leather pants and a corset. Dean's head canted a little to the side while he contemplated the image. Sam rolled his eyes, turning to Jared, who was looking a little taken aback.

"You do know Alyson's married, don't you?" he asked.

"That's never stopped him from looking," Sam replied when Dean made a disappointed sound at the show moving on to something that wasn't a redhead in a corset.

Jared shook his head a little, as though to clear it, then said. "Today has been way too long and way too weird. I'm going to bed. The sofa there's a pull-out, and there's actually another bedroom through that door." He pointed at a beige door next to the balcony. "Night, guys."

"Good night," Sam echoed. Dean just waved vaguely since the redhead was doing the corset thing again. Jared shook his head and vanished down the hall again.

Dean instantly switched the TV off, only looking a little put out at having to do so, and started digging out the sawed-offs. "Do you want first watch, or should I take it?" he asked.

"Whichever," Sam said. "Your choice."

Dean shrugged, and settled onto the couch. "You get some rest then," he said. "And put some stuff on those scratches," he added. "You look crappy after that chick with the beehive 'do tried to do you." He paused, then muttered to himself with shades of Beavis and Butthead, "Heh, do."

The underlying message was clear. Dean knew Sam was exhausted from a day of being harassed by crazy people and was letting him get the break he so sorely needed. "Thanks, Dean," he said with a smile.

"Oh God," Dean said in exasperation. "Trust you to make this into a 'moment'." His hands came up in air quotes.

"Whatever, jerk,"

"Bitch."

Sam went to bed, and was woken a couple hours later by shouts and thumping. As he hurtled down the short hall to Jared's bedroom, the report of Dean's shotgun echoed in the suite. Sam burst into the room to see Dean slumped against the far wall and Jared struggling with an extension cord that was trying to strangle him. Instinct had Sam turning to see the spectre of a wild-eyed young woman reaching for him. He brought his gun up, firing off a blast of rock salt into her chest.

He paid no attention as her form dispersed, as he hurried over to Jared, getting the cord off his double. Before he could go to help Dean, she reappeared, and Sam sent off another blast. "Dean? Dean!" Sam called, hoping his brother would wake up. Jared was staring, eyes practically bugging out of his head at the activity going on around him.

"Sam?" Dean said, his voice deepening the way it always did when he was half-conscious.

The cord flew out from where it had been tossed to the side and wrapped around Sam's neck, dragging him backwards before he could say anything in reply.

"Sam!" Jared shouted. The sound of someone's concern for his younger brother spurred Dean to action, and he managed to grab Sam's shotgun and hit the ghost. The scene finally galvanised Jared into action though, and he rushed over to Sam, trying to help his twin get the cord off. He wasn't able to do that, but it did provide some breathing room.

Cursing, Dean sent off another shot and when the phantasm dispersed again, He dragged the two of them out of the bedroom. They'd almost made it to the door when she reappeared, sending Dean flying. Sam could barely breathe, when suddenly Jared's helping hands were gone. His air cut off again, Sam watched as Jared hoisted the shotgun – badly, aimed – badly, and fired it. He was knocked over by the recoil, clearly unused to firing a gun like that since he seemed not to be braced for it in the slightest. By some miracle, however, the edge of the spray hit her and she dispersed again.

Dean was on his feet, hauling both the younger men up as he got all three of them out the door.

When the suite door slammed behind them, everything stopped. The cord loosened instantly and Jared started to help Sam with it, only to be elbowed aside by Dean. As soon as he'd gotten the cord off his brother, Dean threw it away with a look of revulsion on his face. Once he'd gotten Sam sitting, propped against the wall, Dean slumped down next to him and looked over at Jared. "You okay?" he asked.

The other man looked shell-shocked. Actually, as Sam watched, it became clear he was actually going into shock. This was bad on a lot of levels, not least of which because it meant they wouldn't be able to begin damage control on the situation. Worse, Sam and Dean would probably have to smuggle the guy out of the hotel and down to a cheap motel on the other side of town to treat the symptoms. They sure as hell couldn't head back into that suite.

Jared had started making some vague consonant and vowel sounds, but nothing really coherent. "Wha– I– th– wi– " His skin was clammy and his pupils weren't looking quite right either.

With a wince, Sam levered himself up and over to where Jared stood, leaning on the decorative little Baroque table that was in the hall for no reason Sam could see. "Come on," he said. He reached out to loop his doppelganger's arm over his shoulders, but Dean beat him to it. They made their way to the elevators and down to the main floor. It took some doing to get Jared out to the Impala with no one noticing, but Sam and Dean had been doing it all their lives and managed.

Sam settled himself into the back seat with Jared, tucking a blanket around the guy who was clearly freezing despite the despicably warm California weather. If there was one thing Sam definitely did not miss about Stanford, it was the heat. They'd grown up all over the US, but John had always tended to head north at the first signs of spring.

They found a no-tell motel on the outskirts of the city and Dean checked them in while Sam tried to bring the actor out of it. Dean came back with the keys to room ten and helped Sam get Jared and the bags into the room. Once they'd settled the actor on one of the beds, curled up under the covers and staring into space, they looked at each other for a long moment in united indecision.

Then Sam broke the moment by taking out his laptop and bringing up their research. It took only a few moments, while Dean puttered around with the guns, cleaning them and double-checking the back-up sawed-offs, to find what he was looking for. "Hanna Szymanowski, nee Gzowski. Of her sisters she was the one content to live a life of quiet domesticity and shunned her sisters' successes."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "The picture match?"

"Yeah."

The older Winchester frowned. "So you're thinkin' . . . what? She killed her family, then went nuts and offed herself?"

"Something like that." Sam looked through his notes again. "It looks like her sisters were pretty big on the Vaudeville circuit, and so were her parents. I bet she didn't settle on a life of 'quiet domesticity'."

"She couldn't hack it, you think?" Dean said, as always picking up on the direction of Sam's thoughts.

"Yeah. It says here that this was the annual family reunion. They had one every five years." Sam flipped through the papers and the files on his computer as he began to put together the pieces. "So she's probably going through all that stupid crap that comes with family reunions-"

Dean cut him off. "What do you know about family reunions?"

"Jess brought me to one of the Moore reunions. Seriously, it was like watching Dad and Bobby go at each other about all their screwups on hunts they did together." Sam made a face at Dean. "Jess said she'd brought me along because at least this time no one could make fun of her for not having a boyfriend."

Shaking his head, Dean said, "Okay, so they're all getting nasty with her because she can't hack it on stage, and she kills them?"

A shrug. "I guess. Probably kinda like the woman in white deal. She doesn't realise what she's doing until she's done it and kills herself." Sam leaned back, spreading out his hands in a helpless gesture of resignation. "She's probably coming back every five years for the 'reunion'."

From the other side of the room, a third voice piped up. "That was a ghost. A ghost is coming to my hotel room every five years to kill people because she was crazy when she was alive?"

"Uh . . . yeah?" Dean offered. He was watching Jared with narrowed eyes. "We figured that you'd probably be better off staying somewhere there weren't malevolent spirits trying to kill you."

Jared shook his head as he emerged from under the blankets, then said shakily, "I guess this should really help my performance." He let out a slightly hysterical laugh, then winced sharply and reached for the back of his head. "Ow."

Dean was across the room in a few steps, examining the back of Jared's head. Apparently, when the recoil of the shotgun had knocked the actor over, he'd banged his head. It wasn't immediately obvious – no blood – but when you looked closer the knot was visible. "Sit down," Dean said, easing him back to the bed.

"I just . . . How did you . . . I mean . . ."

"Uh . . . you'll have to make more sense than that, dude," Dean said wryly.

Jared shook his head a little, winced as the motion clearly hurt, frowned for a moment, and then asked, "How did you know there was going to be a ghost? I mean, you had all the guns with you, and just now you were talking about this woman, Hanna . . . something?"

Shrugging, Sam settled on the bed next to the actor, and said, "It's what we do. We look for things that are killing people. I did the research-"

"'Cause you couldn't sleep after that hag," Dean interrupted.

Sam glared at his brother. "Not the point, Dean. It took a while, but I put together the pattern of the deaths in the penthouse."

Sam's almost-a-double said, "But why did y'all break into the suite? I mean, if you'd figured everything out, couldn't you . . . I dunno, get rid of the ghost?"

"We hadn't figured everything out," Sam replied. Then he sighed. "We needed to figure out which of the people who died initially was the ghost, and since there were a lot of them and not a lot of records, sometimes it's faster to go see the ghost to get a hint or two. Or see who it actually was."

"Also," Dean added, "We had to protect you. It's the five-year anniversary. It's when Hanna kills."

"So she would have . . . I mean, if you guys weren't there I'd be . . ." he trailed off, looking utterly freaked out. Not that Sam blamed him in the least. It's one thing to come face to face with your mortality when you're doing a job where you expect it. Hunting, police work, firefighting, things where you expect to be in danger are harrowing enough. But to have something lunge out at you where you're expecting to be safe and relaxing was doubly shocking. On top of that, the poor guy was being faced with something he pretended was real from day-to-day, but probably didn't believe in at all.

Sam patted Jared's knee, and said, "It's okay. She won't be able to get you here, and Dean and I can deal with her tonight. We know where she's buried and we'll just salt and burn her. The suite'll be safe by this morning."

"Why didn't you do it sooner?" he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "'Cause while we _could_ just dig up the bodies of everyone that was in there when the original murders happened, that's twenty-odd people and that means twenty-odd graves to dig up. Do you know how long it takes to dig up a grave by hand?"

Looking a little green, Jared said, "I guess I thought it'd be like on _Inexplicable_. A sort of ritual thing."

That had Sam letting out a bark of laughter. "No wonder Walter got so pissed."

"Walter?" Jared asked, confused.

"The guy who was using some ghosts on the _Hell Hazers_ set to kill people," Dean said, bluntly. "Walter Dickson. He was pissed off 'cause he wrote the original script and then they messed it up and screwed with all his research."

"He probably wouldn't have been nearly as upset if they hadn't made the script into garbage," Sam offered.

Dean glared at Sam, "He was teaching people how to raise the dead. You know the kinda crap people do from books and movies."

"Dean's right," Jared offered.

"What?" the brothers chorused, surprised.

Jared looked at the two of them with a grimace of memory on his face. "You know how the fans can get all crazy, Sam?" he said. When Sam nodded, he continued. "Well, I Google stuff to do with the show sometimes. I like knowing what the fans think, y'know? I've seen some videos of people casting the 'spells' and doing the 'rituals' we have on the show. If the movie got big, someone would probably do it with those."

Sam felt a tic start below his right eye, while Dean started muttering to himself. Things were bad enough with the damage amateur witches did when they got ahold of real grimoires without picturing literally millions of people having simple access to that information in a blockbuster summer thriller.

"So, now what?' Jared asked them.

Sam took a deep breath and said, "Now you get some rest, and Dean and I'll go deal with Hanna. We'll sneak you back into the hotel tomorrow morning."

It was a testament to how flummoxed the actor was that he just accepted that and sort of curled up on the too-small bed.

It really was a simple salt-and-burn after that. Sam was deeply grateful. The whole experience had been depressing enough as it was. He and Dean made their way back to the motel, and found a sheepish-looking Jared having been digging through their stuff. "I uh . . ." He said hesitantly. "I was hoping to get some ideas about playing Saul." His hands spread in a gesture of mild supplication. "It's hard to research a role when there's no one who hunts ghosts and urban legends."

"I'm not really sure Dean and I are good examples for you on this," said Sam. "I mean, what we do is kill stuff. It's not the same as Saul York at all."

"And my baby is awesome unlike that _mustang_," Dean added.

Jared's eyebrows went up, and he said, "I noticed that yesterday. What's your problem with the car?"

"It's a royal blue mustang," Dean said, as though it explained everything.

He and Jared bickered amicably over the relative merits of the cars while Sam stowed the gear and took advantage of Dean's distraction to get into the driver's seat. "Are we going? I thought you had an autograph signing thing this morning," Sam asked.

"Yeah," Jared said as he folded himself into the back seat. "But Erik and I get to have breakfast first, so why don't you guys join us." He shifted and sat himself almost sideways on the seat, taking the rare opportunity to get close to stretching out while in a car. "It's a buffet," he told them.

"Done," Dean said immediately. "Sam, if you put on any of that crap you call music, I'll make you regret it."

"Your rules Dean," Sam sing-songed back. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." Then he threw on a mix tape of Fleetwood Mac. Dean whined for a while, then told Jared the whole story of what actually happened on the _Hell Hazers_ set. Jared was suitably impressed, and told them he was definitely going to try to get Kripke to use the salt-loaded shotguns.

"They are way too awesome," the actor told them. "I don't know how to do this without getting accused of ripping off _Hell Hazers_, but I have to try."

Breakfast went without incident, as Dean went to the buffet and back again, over and over and over and over and over . . . Some of those trips were to tell an edited version of the 'Hell of a PA' story to Erik, but mostly it was more food than Sam thought even Dean should be able to ingest.

When breakfast was over, Jared followed Sam and Dean out to a spot a little ways away from the hotel. "I wanted to thank you guys. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead."

"All in a day's work," Sam told him with a small smile. "And you're not too shabby yourself. We don't often get any help at all from the people we rescue."

Dean piped up, "Hey, he looks just like a Winchester. Some of that awesomeness has to take." He tilted his head consideringly. "Of course, he'd be more awesome if he looked like me, but that goes without saying."

"I coulda gone without hearing you say it," Sam said.

Jared grinned. "Well, if I have to look like someone else, better to look like someone awesome than someone who isn't awesome."

Sam handed him a slip of paper. "Here's my email address and my cell number. Just in case something comes up, y'know?"

Jared nodded. "Thanks. I'd stick around and say goodbye properly, but I really have to get back to the autograph session." They said their farewells and Jared hurried off. Sam plonked down as Dean went off to retrieve the car.

He was waiting for Dean to bring the car around, when the convention had its parting shot. "Ohmigod! Dean?"

His head whipped around, and he saw a young woman approaching him. "Uh . . . Dean's getting the car," he said. Presuming she was one of the fans who'd seen the display the day before, Sam assumed she'd mistaken Dean's name for his own.

He was wrong.

"No," she said definitely. "You're him! Dean Forrester! I can't believe it!" With every word her voice got louder until she was shrieking. Then she flung herself across the space between them, and started into a long and complex discussion of why Dean Forrester was the most wonderful guy ever and how Rory should totally have wound up with him, not that Logan guy and, "What was kissing Rory like? I mean, you're totally in love with her, it's, like, obvious."

Sam's mind was a blank. He spoke without thinking. "It's acting. Of course Dean looks like he's in love with her. _Dean_ is. I'm not Dean. It's just acting."

"No! Stop lying! Everyone knows you're trying to make it look like you're not with Rory by going out with that other girl, but you so are!" She grabbed him and Sam looked around in a panic, hoping that Dean would show up soon and rescue him. The rumble of the Impala had never sounded more beautiful.

"Excuse me," he said, prying her hands off his shirt and practically diving into the car. "Drive!" he shouted at his brother. For once, Dean did as he was told by his younger brother.

"What was that about?" Dean asked once Sam had stopped hyperventilating.

"Fangirls."

They both put the incident from their minds until they got a phone call from the post office about a P.O. box they had in Cleveland. When they got there, they found a box waiting for them. They took it back to the motel (Mad Hatter's tea party themed) and found it was full of various shirts, baked goods, and a pile of odds and ends, including some weird-looking jewellery and some things that were strangely reassembled flashlights.

There was a letter attached to the package.

_Dear Sam and Dean,_

_I used your cell number to find the P.O. box. I'll be sending along some of the stuff Erik and I get from the fans. I know you guys can't make a lot of money, so I thought I'd send you some things that can actually be used. I've already had the food checked, none of it's poisoned or anything, so feel free to have it. _

_I just felt like I needed to thank you properly for saving my life. I hope some of this stuff is useful. I know the cookies are good. Yolanda sends me a lot of stuff and it's all really good._

_Thanks again,_

_Jared_

Sam looked up from the letter to see Dean, his mouth full of brownies, fiddling with one of the flashlights, coming up with three colours of lights, an infrared beam and a tiny water gun which he hit Sam with. "'If if awfum!" he exclaimed through his brownies.

"What's awesome?" he asked Dean.

Dean swallowed his mouthful and said, gesturing at the flashlight, "This! It's got a hand grip and a blue light, which you know we need for hunting those purple things with the uh . . ." Dean gestured vaguely then continued.

Sam sighed, picked up a chocolate chip cookie and settled in to let Dean enthuse. It was a lot less tiring than trying to make him stop. And Jared was right. The cookies were pretty fantastic.

The End

Post-fic notes:

1) Eric Kripke says on the DVDs that he'd originally pitched the idea to the networks of, "I wanted to do a series about American legends and folklore . . . It's a reporter who hunts ghosts across the country and he works for a tabloid . . ." I'm just assuming that they picked up that idea. I rather suspect the Gospel of Winchester would have run into some issues otherwise.

2) Kripke also said that he'd originally considered having the Brothers Winchester driving a classic mustang. Apparently, a neighbour who was very into cars talked him out of it and into the Impala.

3) No, I'm not immune to the Jensen-was-on-a-soap-opera reference thing either.

4) The aforementioned neighbour apparently convinced Kripke by telling him that yes, he could have the boys drive a mustang, if he wanted them in a 'pussy car'.


End file.
